


'Till We Both See The Light

by amazinglyhorribleegg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coffee, Deleted Scenes, Dialogue Heavy, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Fanart, Gen, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Greg Lestrade to the Rescue, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't ship sherlock and lestrade btw, I just added that tag in, I mean, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Fanart, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Missing Scene, Paternal Greg Lestrade, Pre-Canon, Scotland Yard, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Smoking, Worried Greg Lestrade, actually all fanfiction, but also fanfiction, but there's no romantic stuff in this, but theres a link to the fanart, just in case people look for friendship fics, ship whatever you want I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazinglyhorribleegg/pseuds/amazinglyhorribleegg
Summary: "Trying to give these up, actually," Lestrade mentioned casually, glancing around the seemingly barren roof. Sherlock was there, hiding behind a roof vent, he could tell. Like a sixth sense. "I was thinking of a pipe. What do pipes do for you that cigarettes don't?"There was a pause, and Lestrade almost thought he was really alone on the roof, but then a voice responded, "Cancer of the jaw,"-=-One-shot based on the deleted scene in A Study In Pink, linked in the notes at the beginning of the work.Also based on fanart I made, which is based on the deleted scene, which is also linked in the notes at the beginning of the work.





	'Till We Both See The Light

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this fanart I made: https: //www.deviantart.com/forfeittrevor/art/Till-We-Both-See-The-Light-791843132  
> ((Safe link))  
> Which is based on the deleted scene in ASIP: http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/post/101965681435/nixxie-fic-07-deleted-scenes-from-the  
> ((Also a safe link))
> 
> TW for mentioned ways of attempting suicide

The sun was setting when Lestrade went to the roof.

His shift just ended but he wasn't quite ready to go home just yet. Although the thought of a warm bed and comfortable sleepwear was convincing, the thought of an eerily quiet house made him almost wish his job lasted another hour.

That's how he found himself climbing the flight of stairs to the roof, a box of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other. He closed the door behind him and leaned on the wall next to it. With a sigh he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, covering the flame with one hand. He inhaled and let the nicotine sink in, holding his breath until the smoke made his lungs burn before exhaling. He sighed before taking another hit, loosening his muscles.

"Trying to give these up, actually," Lestrade said casually, glancing around the seemingly barren roof. Sherlock was there, hiding behind a roof vent, he could tell. Like a sixth sense. "I was thinking of a pipe. What do pipes do for you that cigarettes don't?"

There was a pause, and Lestrade almost thought he was really alone on the roof, but then a voice responded, "Cancer of the jaw,"

Lestrade laughed, walking around the wall to find Sherlock on the other side, sitting on the edge of the roof, close enough that Lestrade felt a pang of paternal-like worry. He dismissed the thought quickly, realizing that _Sherlock's a grown man and he can sit on the roof if he wants_.

"Okay, so what am I missing this time?"

Sherlock's voice was stronger as he started to say what was on his mind. "No notes. No prior signs. Each of them in a strange location that means nothing to them," he paused. "Not how I'd do it,"

The pang of worry was back, burning a hole through Lestrade's stomach. He took a step closer, noticing a recyclable coffee cup next to Sherlock. "How're you doing these days?" He asked. Maybe not the smoothest, but Sherlock was never one for small talk.

"Alright, I suppose." Sherlock nudged the coffee cup. "Come sit,"

Lestrade put out his cigarette and placed the half-finished roll back in its box, sitting down next to the detective. Sherlock had both feet hanging off the edge of the twenty-story drop, his hands supporting him as he leaned backwards. Lestrade sat crisscross, picking up the cup between them. "Coffee. Two creams, how you like it." Lestrade sipped the drink, surprised to find it still a good temperature.

"So you knew I was going to be up here," Lestrade stated. Not quite a question, but almost an invitation to explain how.

"Are you surprised?" Sherlock responded, not looking away from the sunset. "Your wife's visiting her sick sister out of town, won't be back for another four days. It's achingly empty in the house alone."

The DI hummed, almost wanting to ask how Sherlock knew, but holding himself back. "You would know?"

"221B gets awfully quiet sometimes," Sherlock agreed. "But I am used to being solitary. It's not something I tend to run from,"

Lestrade took another sip from his coffee. "Have you ever thought about a flatmate? I mean, that flat you live in is meant for two, isn't it? Plus, I can't imagine you getting that much cash from solving murders,"

"I have my ways," Sherlock said, "clients are willing to pay quite a hefty fee for their loved ones. Even so, my brother helps keep me afloat occasionally." He paused, and a glance from Lestrade showed that he was smiling. "And, honestly, Lestrade, who would want me for a flatmate?"

The inspector huffed. "You'd be surprised," He responded, letting the conversation dwindle into silence.

Eventually Lestrade asked, "How would you do it? Uhh, suicide, I mean,"

"Assuming that I didn't have to follow a certain criteria. I guess it would depend," Sherlock said. "I've thought about how I would kill myself as often as I think about killing others. A simple mental exercise for when 221B gets too quiet. It really depends on how much I want to die, why I'm doing so and how others would react. Gun seems most likely, as it has the highest rate of success, but I do feel bad leaving Mr. Hudson to clean up the mess. Hanging, eh, possibly," Sherlock made a so-so expression. "A little cliché. Falling's a reliable and safe death, although I would most likely do it at night to lower the chances of onlookers being traumatized." Lestrade glanced wearily at the edge of the roof and the quickly setting sun. "Overall, if I ever came to a time where suicide was a viable option, I would probably do it via overdose,"

_Overdose._ Not a pretty thought, with how often Lestrade found himself nursing a withdrawing Sherlock on his couch. "Why's that?"

"It's not too difficult to calculate my dose of which death would be most likely, it's a very quiet death, one that won't bring a lot of attention. People won't find me until hours later," Lestrade regret asking. "I'd skip all that "Oh we didn't see it coming" mess that suicide would usually bring, and it would take most of the guilt off people, as they could tell themselves it was an accidental overdose. Plus, if it does fail, it's not too unusual for my standards. I'd be let off the hook fairly easily."

Lestrade nodded, feeling a bit more unsettled than when he started. He almost moved to get another cig to calm his nerves. "You're alright, though?" He asked instead. "Like, not planning to... do any of that any time soon?"  
Sherlock was a bit too quiet. "Don't worry, Lestrade, I didn't come up here with the plan to jump. I simply came up to think. Although the company isn't unwelcome,"

Lestrade took that as his invitation to stay. The sun was now hidden behind the skyline, the clouds painting a beautiful orange-pink over the sky. Glancing behind him, he was welcomed with a deep blue.

"Nobody will notice if I don't come home tonight," Sherlock mentioned after a while of silence. "Mrs. Hudson might, but she's used to my erratic schedule while on a case,"

"Yeah, I guess I'm in the same boat," Lestrade answered after a moment of thought. The idea left him with a strange emptiness in his chest, but the thought of staying with Sherlock filled it.

"There are times I prefer not going home. Sometimes I find it better to wander the streets of London, memorize every sidewalk, every tree, every person. Or sometimes I simply find myself on a roof, watching the world continue from below," Sherlock pulled one leg up, putting his knee against his chest. "It's methodical, how everything moves. Everything has a reason, a purpose, and everybody's lives are interconnected," Sherlock's voice lowed, deep in thought. "It's messy, it's almost intelligible, but there is a pattern. In between the loudness, the busyness, the chaos," He paused. "It's interesting how one can be surrounded by so many people, yet be so isolated. As if they're sitting on top of a twenty story building, watching the world spin beneath their feet." Sherlock's voice dropped for that sentence, and Lestrade found himself adjusting his seat, moving to sit closer to Sherlock. "The cogs whirring, the hearts beating. Some may call it poetic."

Lestrade found himself listening to Sherlock continue for the next hour, not missing how the detective slowly leaned in closer to him, his monologue thinning out as he fell asleep against the older man's shoulder.

Lestrade was counting the stars when he realized he wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, as well as constructive criticism!


End file.
